The Bestial
by Nephyr
Summary: After the Last Battle, Hermione lost her memory. Something happened there that she had blocked out. Something that was important to finding Harry and Ron, who were lost in the fight, and saving Draco, who was serving under the new evil, the Bestial


The Bestial  
  
_Chapter 1: Augury_

_= = = = =_

Falling.  
  
She remembered falling. The sensation of drifting away, of being pulled down to nothing. She anticipated impact, but there was none-only a lonely, dark fall.  
  
She tried to call up other memories, ones that came close to breaking the surface of the darkness, but in the end, could not appear to her. Where was her memory? Why couldn't she remember? What was hidden in the recesses of her mind?  
  
The fall ended. She remembered that. There was no sudden impact, though. There was no slapping of water on her back; there was no rushing of granite to meet her. There was only the feeling of levitating in the air, shrouded in unending darkness. She levitated in the middle of darkness, unsure of what to do, then took a shaky step forward. She met air, but she didn't fall, as if the air was sturdy enough to stand upon.  
  
The silence there, in the darkness... it scared her. It was thick and oppressing, yet not substantial enough to suffocate her, as if the quiet wrapped itself around her to keep her inside.  
  
No. I want to hear.  
  
The silence fell away in tufts, until she could hear what went on beyond the darkness. It gripped her heart with panic, with relentless terror. Screams ripped through the night, effusive with agony. What was happening outside?  
  
And the darkness cleared away at this thought. Through a haze, she could see figures writhing in painful dances, tortured by a single man, who was laughing in the wake of the crumbling bodies. The man had his back turned to her and she faintly recognized the stance of his shoulders, the toss of his head, and the positioning of his feet. Then he turned, and looked at her with his piercing eyes, the laughter dying there like a candle to the wind.  
  
Before she could scream, the darkness rushed back to her. This time, she submitted to its numbing embrace and fell to oblivion.

= = = = =

It would do no good to cry. Why did she cry? Why were the tears flowing out of the darkness to tumble down her cheeks and land on her painfully thin chest? Why did a soft hum meet her when she strained her ears? What was happening?  
  
She woke up.  
  
"Hermione's awake!" Someone cried excitedly in the room. Her head suddenly pounded fiercely.  
  
"Please don't yell," she croaked, trying to lift a hand to her head. But her body was heavy and her muscles could not respond to her requests. She remained completely still on the makeshift bed; she could not support her own weight.  
  
The people in the room cheered, hugging and kissing each other. She licked the tears around her chapped lips, surprised at how salty they were. It had been a long time since she cried. Someone pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, wiping away the tears gently. "Hermione," the girl said, her voice trembling. "You've finally woken up."  
  
"Is that my name?" she asked finally. "Hermione? It's a pretty name. A little strange, but pretty...."  
  
The room suddenly fell silent as she struggled to open her eyes. Peering through her lashes, she could finally see the room where the noise made it seem as if a million people had been crowded inside. There were only six. The girl by her side had flaming red hair and there were dark circles underneath her green eyes. She held Hermione's limp, dead hand. Two boys stood at the end of the bed. One was slightly pudgy, with frightened eyes and a mop of dark hair. The other was round like a log, with a dull, slow air to him. A severe woman with graying hair sat in an armchair by a table against the other wall, looking at her sadly through her glasses. To her right, two men stood, one with straggly hair, gaunt with intelligent eyes and the other a tall, well-to-do redhead who bore a bandage around the top of his head and a cast on his left arm.  
  
They stared at her as she blinked a few times in the dimly lit room at the streaks of sunlight streaming weakly through cracks in the curtains behind the young girl.  
  
"You... you don't know your name?" asked the girl, her green eyes widening. "Do you remember anything?"  
  
Hermione lifted her eyes to the girl's face, gazing at the freckles that stood out against her pale skin. "Well, I remember something about S.P.E.W.-Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare or something."  
  
The other redhead gave a weak laugh. "Promotion, Hermione. Promotion."  
  
"Do you remember Harry? Ron?" said the girl, growing more worried.  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
The others gaped at Hermione as if a frog had popped out of her mouth. "Do you remember me? Neville? Professor Lupin? Professor McGonagall?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, a difficult task at best.  
  
"Oh, hell."  
  
"Please refrain from swearing, Mr. Weasley," said the stern woman, who got up with an official air. "We have to see what Miss Granger remembers."  
  
"Who's that?" asked Hermione. She wiggled her fingers, the feeling having arrived back into them.  
  
"You, Hermione. Your last name is Granger," piped up the chubby boy.  
  
"Miss Granger, can you remember what happened in the dungeons at the Riddle House?" asked the woman.  
  
"What?" Hermione looked around at the other people for help. "Riddle House?"  
  
"Can you remembered what happened in that place where Harry and Ron were fighting with you against Lord V-Voldemort? What happened to the people we sent with you? Why were they all mangled and you untouched? What happened to Harry and Ron? Where did they go?" the woman said, gripping the iron bedpost in urgency.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know!" Hermione got the feeling what happened in the 'Riddle House' was important, but she could remember anything but darkness. And falling. And...  
  
She let out an intense shriek and burst into tears. The others leaned forward as she sobbed, trying to hear her words. Hermione could not control her muttering and it all poured out.  
  
"He tortured them. He was using the Cruciatus Curse. He wanted to hurt them, to let them feel pain. He was laughing!" she said, starting to tremble. She suddenly felt insecure in the warm bed, as if someone could swoop down on her to apply the same curse that had killed all of her other comrades.  
  
"Who? Who?" asked the girl eagerly.  
  
Hermione turned and caught her gaze, staring into her eyes with fright. She opened her mouth... and nothing came out.  
  
They shrank back suddenly and regarded each other with grim expressions. Hermione looked around desperately hoping someone could comfort her, take the fear away, make her feel secure and safe again.  
  
Nothing of the sort happened.

= = = = =

It had all started with Hogwarts. The castle itself was dangerous-it had a mind of its own, moving around all the time. Hermione was caught in the middle of one of these sudden changes and redirected to another part of the castle she had no desire to visit. She had bumped into Draco Malfoy, the annoying Slytherin who lived to bother Hermione and her friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They had exchanged insults before he left, but that day in first year changed everything. She received mysterious letters once a month for every year until seventh, each alternately praising and insulting her. She knew it was just Malfoy trying to get on her nerves, so she never told anyone.  
  
Then, in seventh year, the letters changed. They bore threats to kill her, threats to harm Harry and Ron, to hurt her. She confronted Malfoy, but he only smirked and walked away every time she faced him. And then, one day, when no one was around and Hermione was arguing with the prat, he kissed her, much to her surprise. He told her everything about himself and how he had found her so intriguing. She was shocked and told him to sod off. Then she started to miss his letters and his glances, even the little satisfaction she got from insulting him in her replies. She finally confronted him with her feelings and they started a love/hate relationship based on their newfound passion and dependency on each other.  
  
And then it happened. The others found out slowly, one by one, until the couple was forced to reveal themselves in front of the whole student population. Her friends looked at her as if she had gone mad. His friends were much more drastic. Betrayal was not uncommon among Slytherins, but betrayal for a Gryffindor? A mudblood? Two weeks after they had come out about their love, he disappeared without a word.  
  
She became disconsolate. Her heart had been torn to pieces and reconstructed as a hollow, wooden thing. She barely got through the classes, constantly glancing behind her as if he were still there, and withering away when she saw the empty seat. She hated him for leaving. She hated him for not owling. She hated him and she longed for him deeply.  
  
She was shocked to see him again, among the Death Eaters, blank-eyed and emotionless as if under some spell. He didn't recognize her, and if he did, he gave no sign of it. He attacked her several times, taking her off guard, but her friends soon figured out what was happening and protected her madly. She should have been happy her friends were so loving, so caring, but she was too broken and hurt to notice. She was being selfish, she realized, yet she could do nothing about it.

= = = = =

Hermione remembered some things and others were either buried deep in her subconscious or erased entirely from her memory. She remembered spells-Wingardium Leviosa, Accio, Lumos-and techniques to potion making, transfiguration, and arithmancy. She remembered books and history. She did not remember spending evenings joking with her friends in the Gryffindor common room. She did not remember walking along the lake on the Hogwarts grounds with the other two, talking about Sirius Black and the Order. She did not remember dancing with Krum, arguing with Ron, and kissing Harry on the cheek. She did not remember spending summers at the Burrow or at Grimmauld Place. She did not remember the Boy-Who-Lived. She did not remember his best friend.  
  
But she did remember Draco. All through her recuperation period, she kept pestering Ginevra (Ginny) Weasley about a young man with cold grey eyes and a ready sneer, with sleek blonde hair that glistened silver in the moonlight and pale, long limbs that reached out for her readily.  
  
_("What ARE you remembering, Hermione? PALE LONG LIMBS?? You and he haven't... you know... have you?)  
  
("Huh? I know what?")  
  
("Well... you know... coupled.")  
  
("What's that?")  
  
("Ummm... become one?")  
  
("How can two separate people turn into one?")  
  
("Ugh... have you touched him intimately?")  
  
("Ginny! Actually, I dunno. I only get glimpses of him in my dreams. He's the only thing I remember.")_  
  
Ginny had grown pale at that, her freckles standing out clearly on her skin. Hermione's dreams were tormented, as she knew from sitting at her side the endless nights when Hermione tossed and turned and moaned incoherently. Sweat would break out on Hermione's temple as the poor girl screamed with anguish repeatedly as if she were some banshee from a nightmare.  
  
"You see Draco Malfoy in your dreams? What's he doing?" Ginny whispered.  
  
"I dunno. I just see him," replied Hermione nonchalantly.  
  
It seemed only Ginny would stay with Hermione while she recovered. Ginny would tell her stories, endless stories, of their exploits at Hogwarts and descriptions of Harry and Ron. By the time Hermione could properly move her arms and legs, she had an adequate grasp of Lord Voldemort's power and why it was they who had to stop him.  
  
Professor McGonagall came very rarely, for she had students to organize and instruct back in the mayhem at Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore had disappeared after the Last Battle of the Second War, along with Fawkes, his phoenix. Professor Snape had died to save the trio as they fought in the Battle. Professor Lupin divided his time between discussing tactics and helping McGonagall. The Weasleys were fighting to set things right at the Ministry. Fred and George were using their knowledge of tricks to provide an easy line of defense if the need ever arose.  
  
Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks scoured Britain for Death Eaters-most had been captured or died already in the fighting but a few, like Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco, were still at large. Gregory Goyle, who had converted to the Order at the last moment because of his newfound adoration for Luna Lovegood, acted as a guard at their second headquarters, where Hermione was hidden away, a little office in the shabby neighborhood the Ministry phone booth was located. Neville Longbottom was using the best of his abilities to track down Harry and Ron, following tips and sightings, though to no avail.  
  
Somehow, Hermione was the key to all of this. Somehow, she was important.  
  
If only she could remember why.

= = = = =

A new evil was rising. It was growing, festering with every step, spreading and corrupting, seeding where it stepped, scattering a slow poison where it passed. A new evil was rising.  
  
And Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were watching it helplessly, trapped.

= = = = =

It was time to seek her out. She was the most important aspect to this approaching Third War. She was the one who could stop it. She was also the one who, with one wrong step, could start it.  
  
Fatidica Bran brushed away the stones and crystal balls that laid on her gaudy table, rushing her customers away. She packed away the perfumes and incense and emptied the tea leaves in her tea cups determinedly. She gathered a few of her herbs into a small bag and tucked her wand into a long pocket in her garish dress. She closed her shop, disappearing among the muggles who flooded the streets at the end of the workday, setting out on her important quest.

= = = = =  
  
_Disclaimer: Harry Potter-not mine. Ron Weasley-not mine. Hermione Granger-not mine. Draco Mal... Ginny Weasley-not mine. Everyone else, not mine.  
_  
Little imaginary voice: What about Draco?  
  
_Sh...._  
  
= = = = =  
  
Let's have a little contest: whoever can tell me why Fatidica Bran is a special name will win... pride. XD Can anyone guess why it's so special? (Hint: Bran means something in another language.)  
  
Please R/R!


End file.
